Charge to glory
by NCR Ranger
Summary: Its the final stand for the remnants of the Covenant. As Thel Vadam and Rtas Vadum lead their forces to crush them for good, and bring Sanghelios back to a better future, neither of them knows that a chance for yet more glory awaits them, out on the sea


Today was turning out to be a glorious day.

Thel V'Dam, Kaidon of the House of Vadam, Grand Master of the Swords of the Sanghelios, and leader of a reunited Sanghelli nation, didn't slow down in the slighest as he marched with powerful and committed strides, surronded by his ever attentive personal guard and with a detechment of some of his very best warriors, across one of the bridges spanning the great gaps between the sections of the age-old city of Sunion, with the turbulent seas that enveloped the city steadily hammering at its titanic supporting pillars.

He savored the feel of the ocean air bushing his face, in spite of the ash and sparks that were carried along with it. The scents of battle.

They were only a few of the reminders that the battle being fought here had been a prolonged and primally vicious one, that had left a a glaring mark on the city- yet more plasma and energy burns and blast marks everywhere, holes blown through the sides of buildings, fires burning white hot left and right dark columns of smoke rising high above them. Corpses ( most of which were thankfully not those of his troops, but rather wore the purple of the Storm Covenant ) strewn about like ragdolls with the strings cut, many of which were splashed with blood. Crashed Banshees had embedded themselves into building sides and roofs, smoke rising from their cooling wrecks.

Sunion was a torn city, and the sight of it filled Thel with rage. This was a place that should've been treated with the utmost dignity, and if they hadn't been led along by the nose by the Heirarchs, they'd have realized this well before now. As it was, that the Storm Covenant had made their stand _here,_ turning it into their absolute last holdout, just made Thel more determined than ever before to fight them to the end.

An end to the sham Covenant that the madman known as Jul M'Dama had created.

Thel saw that. That end, would give the Sangheli the stepping stone to their new future. One that wasn't here, amid a long abaonded city gutted by combat, but over this world as a whole- _thier_ world.

Sanghelios. Any empire , any society needed a foundation, and a force to fight for that. That was the role the Swords were now keen to fulfill.

As proud as that made him, it was tempred by how strongly he mourned the demise of each and every one of his soliders, and he'd always wish they could've lived to be in that future ,the one they'd fought so hard and for so long for. Ultimately, he still took heart in that they'd died for something _real_. Not the lies that the old Covenant had sent them on, the false promises of " salvation " and " ascension ", to be made true if they fought to eradicate the Human race.

No, he knew, continuing to make his way forward across the battlefield, now they'd fight for _their own_ race. They'd fight for what would make their ancestors proud: A Sanghellii culture that was _everything_ it used to be.

 _A proud race. We'll make our own desriny among the stars, with none of that profane interference of the San 'Shyuum. This battle is the last obstacle standing in our way to that._

 _They have nothing else to stop us with now.  
_

By now, he'd led his procession to a point near the other end of the bridge. The span fanned out, linking to the next city-platform , in a fan shaped area that was bordered by a towering wall that soared at least 8 stories up. It would've fit well in a _Keep's_ walls. In actuality, that's exactly what it was:

This was one of the ' Bastion Keeps of Sunion ', built to serve as the definition of what a Keep should be. They were indeed fortressess, as much as they were where a Sanghelli lineage resided for countless decades. Gazing up at those looming walls, scarred and abused by the effects of bygone years and the long combat here though they were, they still radiated strength.

Respect, and culture that the Sangelli had lost too long ago.

At least, that's what any _true_ Sanghelli should feel, looking at them. They were now adorned with banners embalzoned with the henious symbol of the imitation Covenant that Jul M'dama had led.

 _Until the Humans put an end to him, once and for all. That should've been our kill, but nonetheless, we welcome thier assitance._

 _But, not here. Here, behind those walls, huddles what is certainly the last of his followers. If they had any real valor, they'd venture out to face us. Instead, they hide and cower. When we make our entrance, and eradicate them, that will be_ our _triumph, and ours alone  
_

" Henious vermin ! They dare deface one of the Bastion Keeps in this way ?! "

The cold-anger-laced exclamation was from none other than Rtas Vadum, one of the most undiniably skilled and competent commanders Thel had ever encountered, worked with, or fought against. Standing tall in his crimson and gold battle armor, with energy weapon burns decorating the right chest plates, his remaining mandibles clenched with anger, and his azure blue energy sword simmering live in his right hand, Rtas made an imposing figure, even more so than someone who was over 7ft tall could already be.

Thel shared that anger. Rtas was not just a key member of the Swords, one of their best leaders and easily their best Fleetmaster, but also, and more importantly, he was Thel's most trusted friend. A brother, that for sure. Thel knew it was better to have only a few friends whom you could trust implicitly, and Rtas counted as that to a T. He was a like minded individual: They shared this dream of a Sanghelli race that would return to its roots, and regain that lost glory.

 _Honored to have you here, brother. We will lead our brethern to victory together_

 _"_ Mdama was many things, Rtas, but respectful of our history, he was not. ", Thel agreed. " He cared only for the future; his own future, the ones the Heirarchs tried for so long to force on us. "

" How dare he. How _dare_ he do this ! He and his ilk have done enough against our efforts, but they couldn't even leave the Bastions alone ? There's no furhter proof needed that Mdama needed to die ! "

Rtas wasn't usually one to get animated like this; Thel had always known him to be calmly rational and levelheaded, who kep his emotions in check. But, evidently, standing here, before one of the the Bastion Keeps of Sunion, one of the oldest sites of Sanghelios' past to still be standing, and to see it defaced , seemed to have struck a chord.

He turned to face the assembled several dozen warriors nearby, who were arranged already in a formation that was loose enough to be flexible, but close enough to cover each other with their blades if need be. He pitched his voice louder than usual, so they could all hear him.

" Brothers ! ", he roared " Your future, and those of your clan, your line, and your keeps, has been defended and advanced by _your_ blades, by _your_ might in battle after battle ! For years now, we have carried that struggle on all our backs ! One we chose _for ourselves_ , not the falsehoods proegated by the Heirarchs ! "

Rumbling of approval rose from the troops, as they hung on every word, even the ones who were focused on the tops of the wall, in case the enemy showed themselves. Thel himself was impressed; Rtas evidently had a hidden talent for inspiration.

And he wasn't done.

" Every day, we shed, and spilled, blood towards one goal: Revive what Sanghelios _was_ ! It was a mighty state, not a thrall for a demented fabrication ! It was a state for our race to live in prosperity ! If we are to have it made real once again, then march forth through those gates ! "

He turned around, and pointed to the main gates set into the Keep's walls. They were at least twice as tall as any Sanghelli, and about as wide, swinging on hinges that looked were bulky enough to withstand a direct hit from a Fuel Rod Cannon. In fact, the doors themselves looked as if they could do that as well, several times over.

As befitting the Bastion Keeps.

" The enemy's last remnants have all but nowhere left to hide ! They look here, to the Bastion Keep, as their becon of hope that they may survive ! That they might live through the day ! Brothers, with their defeat, our victory, and our homeworld's future, will be complete ! Prepare to storm the Bastion ! "

At that another roar rose from them, louder than ever. They may not have needed the impromptu speech, but it certainly didn't hurt. Rather, it had given them another surge of purpose and drive to win this one last fight, this one last battle. All of them were eager to bring Sanghelios back to its pre-strife days, so they could return to their own keeps, and enjoy this future they'd been striving for.

Brimming with zeal at Rtas's words, they needed only the word of their commander to send them on their way.

Rtas looked to Thel, half apologetic that he'd take tne spotlight, but also reflecting the general mood: eagerness, and that zeal. This was the moment. It was time to finish this.

And so, Thel gave the order. He raised his sword, with its simmering orange blade, high overhead, and then jabbed it toward the keep.

 _Now, we take our destiny_

" Swords of Sanghelios ! Ready your weapons ! ADVANCE ! "

* * *

 _Throom !_

With an echoing boom, the great gates came open, swinging agape and crashing into the back of the walls, the stops that were supposed to have stopped them having been removed.

Roaring battle cries, the Swords came through the entrance in a tide of crimson armor and cyan blades. They rushed forwrd, into a sweepingly open courtyard-esque area, measuring around half a mile wide, with the soaring fortress walls wrapping around to either side. It was surrounded by a ring of surprisngly undamaged buildings; unlike the rest of most of the city, these structrues weren't built into one another to form a single flowing ' one roof ' front, but instead, they were seperated by narrow alleys. which were bridged by railed off walkways.

In the center of the sweeping courtyard area, loomed a thunderously powerful looking structure: the main Citadel of the Keep.

Soaring several stories up, it resembled a squared off pyramid, with 'steps ' cut into its flanks, with each level ringed by a low parapet. It was built from ' Seafloor Stone ', or rock that was harvested from beneath the sea, reflecting on how the Bastion Keeps were as timelss as the seas themselves. Sanghelios stone in general was notoriously resilent, on par with forged metal, but that from the ocean was the best of that. Building anything from it was an achivement in of itself.

And here something was, made of it. The Citadel, now garrisoned by the last of Jul's forces. They rose up from behind the parapets, most of them Sanghelli, still clad in the Purple and cobalt blue armor of the Storm Covenant.

Spotting other Sanghelli still following those reprehensible beliefs, only made Thel's anger increase. He'd offered them a chance, he'd tried to convince them to return to the ways of Sanghellios' past, as the Swords had. For months, and years, he'd striven to convince the Kaidons to unite under the banner of the Swords; talking with them, showing them the work the Swords had done for the denizens of Sanghelios, that this was better for them than following the lies of the Hierarchs.

It had worked enough that the Swords had nearly established themselves over all of the planet, but holdouts of the Remnant Covenant frustratingly remained. Like here.

 _Not anymore._ We're _here_

Thel brandished his blade, as the enemy opened fire.

It was sporadic at best, but the volleys of Plasma Rifle, pistol, and carbine shots was too intense to miss their marks completely. His troops had dispersed their formation to be lesser targets, but several still took hits. Grunted howls of pain rang out, as they took their first casualties. Glowing round fired from the hostiles Fuel Rod Cannons outright didn't leave anyone or anything alive when the detonated, in simmering bright explosions.

"Cannons ! " Then bellowed. " Warriors, fire the Incinerator cannons ! "

He resented that he had to use such firepower against the Keep, but it would be much worse if he let it be inhabited by Jul's ilk.

He'd drawn his plasma pistol, which he always carried as a Kaidon, and was firing it as he issued the order. Rtas was nearby, as usual, and he echoed the command, as the Sword's own plasma fire lashed out to strike the parapets. They needed to give cover to the artillery teams, racing to close the range to fire.

The Swords riflemen, despite the fire they were taking, still inflicted casualties, stubbornly keeping the enemy's heads down ( and trying to take them off ), as the gunners charged in, pressing on under the barrage, as several of them dropped dead or wounded from it.

Leveling the mighty Forerunner weapons on their shoulders, the weapons specialists took a brief second to line up properly, and sent the fire on its way. Blazing white, corkscrewing red comets of atomized particles sped out toward the enemy, then impacted with a reverberating roar. The searing hot particles splashed over the Storm Covenant troops, vaporizing most of them before they even realized they'd been hit.

Some at least managed to scream before getting wiped out. Thel found it the least they deserved.

The effects of the attack were more than just the destruction; utter chaos had been wrought among the Storm troops. The Bastion Keeps, strong through they may be, still were not built for warfare of this era. Their walls and parapets were still strong enough to hold up to some of the fire, but it couldn't shield them.

 _They thought they could hide. They thought wrong._

Like a tap being turned off, the fire pouring out from the Citadel slackened. Clouds of dust and shattered rock hung over where the cannons had hit, and ghostly glowing bolts of energy shot out from out of them. The Swords returned fire, and Thel's jaw tightened.

The enemy wasn't shattered yet. They'd been mangled, but not shattered. Yet.

" Close the range ! Enter the Citadel, and eradicate them ! Be vigilant ! "

Rtas issued more commands, right ones, and the warriors responded. Some squads kept up the supression, while others began a sprint to reach the Citadel. Thel was at the front, leading them on.

As he reached the Citadel doors, only a fraction of the size of the ones to the Keep itself, they suddenly came open !

" FOR THE GREAT JOURNEY ! "

At least a dozen Sanghelli, all clad in ornate Gold and blue armor, came barreling out into the open, angry and ready to face their hated adversaries. Each of them wielded a lit and hissing Energy blade.

 _Are they mad ? Or, is this what they deem as a noble end ?_

The Storm Covenant's reckless charge interuppted The's surprise, as they rapidly narrowed the gap between them and the Swords. Automatically, plasma slapped into their shields, and by now, the Swords' Unggoy troops had scampered in close enough to pepper the enemy with Needler shots. The heay volleys had an effect, and several of the Zealots toppled.

But, not all of them.

Suddenly, the opposing sides were face to face, and the fighting went full hand to hand.

Or, rather, blade to blade. The Swords of Sanghelios lived up to their name, and brought their own blades to bear. The crashed into the Storm with a brilliant flash of energy fields. Warriors roared: commands, in pain, in triumph. But, never for mercy.

This was a _fight_ , after all. Thel was in the center of it, as he wanted to be. Somehow, predictably, Rtas had placed himself nearby, covering Thel's left flank, as they came to blows with the hostile army, in a maelstrom of energy, armor, and blood.

 _Yes._ This _is the kind of clash that would make our ancestors proud,_ the Master of the Swords knew, as he brought the Prophet's Bane up, into the chest of an enemy Zealot that had over eagerly( unfittingly so ) charged at him. The fatally wounded Zealot gasped briefly at the twin prongs of Thel's orange blade ran him through, then slowly slid off them and landed with a soft tump in the dusty ground.

This is what a Sanghelli warrior trained his life for. This is what he spared no effort to be ready for. The cherished kind of fight, when you battled your enemy blade to blade, you against him, your prowess and skill, your spirit, against his.

A blade suddenly flashed past, narrowly missing his throat; only Thel's own instincts let him leap back in time. He pivoted instantly to face this new threat, bringing up his weapon, just fast enough for it to slam into the blood red sword of a Zealot in battle tempered, matched dark red armor

Thel was impressed with his new opponent. His movements had been fast, accurate so far, and he looked past their locked blades to look him in the eye, he found he was fighting with pure rage.

Every attack with purpose. Every block and dodge with finesse. He was aiming to win this.

Just as Thel was.

 _His anger, though, comes from his fanatical devotion to a cause, that is on the verge of total collapse. Whoever you are, you've made a grave error, throwing in your lot with Mdama. I won't waste words or efforts trying to convince you to abandon that, even now. We both know you won't turn. If you would, I'd welcome it, but as I know you won't-  
_

 _"_ Blasphemer ! You and and all your followers ! ", the Zealot snarled, with unfiltered hate. He disengaged his blade, then stabbed it down toward Thel's thigh, aiming to imobolize him and make him an easy target.

Thel parried the blow, and countered with a slash, that his opponent managed to partially dodge, but his shoulder armor still was gouged. " We understand the truth, brother. We know all that the Hierarchs and Mdama told us is falsehood "

" **Silence** ! "

More blows, an overhand chop, and an attempt at beheading. Both failed, and Thel struck back again, this time more aggresively, as it was clear his enemy was letting his anger get the best of him. The Bane carved into the Red Zealot's other shoulder, and drew blood. The purple liquid stained the rocks.

A grievious, profane insult for any Sanghelli. It was offensive enough when their blood was spilled at the hands of a non Sanghelli; for it to happen _by_ a Sanghelli was that much worse.

 _Your move_

The Red Zealot did not take it well. His eyes widened with revulsion, more than pain.

Then, narrowed with the most malevolent kind of anger. His jaws shut tight, and a low growl rose from his throat.

With a deep roar, he attacked again.

" We will not go quietly ! ", he raged, swinging with skill marred by anger. " We are the servants of the Great Journey, and we will fight to defend its excecution ! "

He fought on, and he fought well, but that marred skill proved to be his undoing.

" So you will ", Thel agreed. " But, you will fail nonetheless ".

As that blood blade stabbed toward Thel's face yet again, Thel abruptly threw his shoulder forward. It connected, and the Red Zealot was thrown off balance. With a grunt, he staggered, and in the opening, Thel ended the duel.

The Prophet's bane buried itself deep in the Red Zealot's lower torso, shearing through the weathered armor plates, to emerge out his back. Thel twisted it, guaranteeing the wound would be a fatal one.

 _You must be silenced._

 _You would've been a fine addition to the new world I am building, with your skills. However, there is no turning your mind. I will, at least, grant you the dignity of dying in battle._

 _" Hkk ! "_

Red Zealot dropped his blade. He coughed up a spatter of more blood, as the fatal strike took effect.

" For, Mdama ", he gasped out, with astonishing clarity, despite his injury.

Thel removed his own. Red dropped to his knees, then, with a soft _thmp_ , fell onto his side.

As we went down, Thel became aware of something. A change in his surroundings.

The Bastion Keep was taken.

* * *

That final assault of the Zealots had truly been the last, final effort of the Storm Covenant hunked down there, fighting to keep the Storm alive. All acorss the wide plaza, more of the ground was turned to glass by the white hot plasma fire and pockmarked by energy impacts. Scars of a battle hard fought, and well earned.

All around him, the enemy zealots lay dead to the last one, having been killed, or no doubt choosen to have taken their own lives, rather than be captured. Judging from how some of them lay, Thel was sure some of this warriors has opted to personally grant the dead a request to be executed.

As he might've wanted himself, once.

 _Not so much, anymore. I can't say what I'd want, in a moment like that. If they wanted to die, I understand that at least, to die in combat has its own brand of glory_.

" Thel ! "

Rtas strode toward him, his own blade also deactivated. His armor was scarred on its left gauntlet, where a near miss had left its mark. Behind him, several warriors kept in trail, also looking fresh off a battle, covered in its dust, and more than a few of them also spattered with blood.

" Thel, look around you ! It is over ! " Rtas exclaimed, gesturing around him to either side. " We won, brother ! "

He came to a stop in front of Thel, and gripped his shoulders, his remaining jaw bent in a tired but triumphant smile. Nearby, other Swords seemed to be the same: worn out from the day's fighting, but glad to have survived, and basking in the euphoria of victory.

" Its over. We can build Sanghelios back, Thel. We can finally do it now ! "

His brother's conviction was the same as his own, and Thel felt he could finally relax, for the first time in longer than he could remember.

Truly, this had been a glorious day.

" We have, haven't we ? ", He nodded, a similar grin appearing on his own face. " This victory belongs to all of us ! "

He raised his voice. Thel wanted them all to hear, that this belonged to each and every one of them. His army. His warriors.

His brothers.

" All of you ! Carve this day into the history of your clans ! Its the first day, of our new tomorrow ! "

 _Finally. We. Have. Done it. It our triumph, and we_ all _played a role. We have our world back, for real now._

 _For Sanghelios !_

His warriors, wherver they stood on the field, collectively raised their blades, and let loose a roar of victory, that proved they must have read his mind.

" FOR SANGHELIOS ! "

* * *

A quarter mile west of the embattled city, far removed from all that was going on within it, a lone UNSC Pelican dropship bobbed in the sea swells.

It had taken a heavy battering: holes upon holes were burned into its hull, by all manner of non human weaponry, from some of which trails of smoke still curled up. Its cockpit windows were spiderwebbed into a mosiac of cracks, and seawater was slowly but steadily trickling in.

It didn't seem as if anyone was still alive inside.

Until, its roof mounted escape hatch suddenly flipped open.


End file.
